by Kendall Ryan
I nodded and grinned at him. “I might take you up on that. Thanks.”
Adam backed out of my office and closed the door behind him, leaving me alone with my thoughts again. Sure as shit, I almost begged him to come back, because my thoughts were confounding as fuck.
There had to be a logical explanation for this. Working alongside Evie day by day had clouded my brain. Her citrusy scent that was burned into my nostrils, the sound of her laugh when she really let go, her passion for her work—all of it had left an impression that I couldn’t shake.
Shit, I even liked watching the way she contributed at work. She enjoyed pretty things, and took pride in her work making our web presence more visually appealing. I liked that when she needed inspiration, she’d flip through fabric swatches, finger squares of delicate lace, toy with pieces of buttery-soft satin, line up neat rows of tiny pearl buttons until her next wave of brilliance struck. She was young but she was savvy, and it was incredible to watch her use her God-given talents to create something good in the world.
All in all, my work with Sophia’s was certainly far more interesting than the number-crunching I did all day long for my parents’ company.
My cell rang, and I snatched it up without even glancing at the number, happy for another distraction.
“This is Hamilton,” I murmured, thumbing through the file Adam had brought.
“Smith? It’s Arabella Christianson from Château Prive.”
I stiffened and glanced at my desk calendar. Fuck. A knot formed in the pit of my stomach. Arabella’s boutiques were one of Sophia’s newest, most high-profile retailers. I had a call scheduled with her tomorrow to discuss upping our shipments. Not to mention, she and I had a sordid history.
Just be cool.
“Hello, Arabella, good to hear from you. I hope I didn’t mix my days up?” I was pretty sure that wasn’t the case. Adam kept a tight rein on my schedule, but I couldn’t think of any possible good news that would have her calling me a day early, and I definitely wasn’t in the market for any bad news.
“No, we’re still on for tomorrow, but I wasn’t sure whether to call you or Cullen,” she said, her tone chilly. “I’m having an issue with your social media director.”
Evie.
Shit.
I cleared my throat and sat up a little straighter, my brain already churning out potential ways to put out whatever fire was smoldering. The good news was Arabella had called me first and not Cullen. The bad news was I didn’t know if I was going to be able to help Evie, and this might have to escalate anyway.
“What’s going on?”
“Well, she was supposed to send me a mock-up for the social media advertising campaign yesterday, and I still haven’t received it. My concern is that if you people can’t meet a simple deadline for some shared advertising, how can I expect you to meet our shipment deadlines once we increase?”
Her voice grew more clipped by the second, and I could tell she was building up a serious head of steam.
“When Cullen told us he was expanding and could push out product more quickly, we took him at his word. I have seventeen stores prepping premium front-of-the-store space for the new line as we speak. If those spaces are empty come delivery time—”
“They won’t be,” I said simply, cutting in before she could lob a threat that would really piss me off.
Our personal shit was set aside. I was here to help Cullen make his company a financial success again, not to let myself get all pissed off and defensive on behalf of Evie. But, damn it, Evie was good at her job. No way she’d just blown off this deadline. I’d seen her bustling around the office all last week, muttering to herself about this very campaign. Something smelled fishy, and I was going to get to the bottom of it.
“Arabella, I’m not sure exactly what happened, but I’m going to find out. Evie is the most responsible person I know, so I do believe there is an explanation. Give me fifteen minutes to get it and call you back, all right?”
For a second, I thought she might have hung up, but then she let out an exasperated huff.
“Fine. Fifteen minutes,” she snapped before breaking the connection.
Just fucking dandy. I stuffed my phone in my pocket and made a beeline to the elevator. Thankfully, Sophia’s office was only a seven-minute walk from here.
When I reached the office, Evie was standing with her back to the door, facing a back wall that was covered with images of women in gorgeous lingerie. The splashes of color and the layout of her presentation were so eye-catching, I found myself distracted for an instant by the sheer punch of it.
“Hey, Smith, everything okay?”
She blushed a little as our gazes connected, and for a moment, I was silent as the memory of our kiss passed between us again.
“Uh, yeah. Wait. No.” I scrubbed a hand over my jaw and motioned for the two of us to sit. “Look, I just got a call from Arabella Christianson. She said you were supposed to send her your proposed ad campaign yesterday.”
Evie’s brows drew into a frown as her cheeks drained of color. “No. That’s not correct. I have it here in my notes . . .” She turned and began riffling through a pile of papers on her desk, tugging one out and holding it aloft. “This is due by end of business today. I still have a few hours.”
She slid the page across the desk to me. Sure enough, the time and date were written there in Evie’s graceful script and underlined twice.
That was good, but it would only take me so far. In her mind, Arabella still believed the agreement was for yesterday.
“I figured as much. You’re never late on anything, and I know how hard you’ve been working on this. Did you firm up these plans via e-mail or phone?”
“Shit. I’m pretty sure it was on the phone.” Evie shot a glance over her shoulder and turned back to me, looking as vulnerable as I’d ever seen her. “This would suck if it reflects on us poorly because, to be honest, it’s been done for two days. I’ve just been putting off sending it until the last minute because I’m nervous that she won’t like it.”
“That’s not possible. I know Arabella.”
“Arabella?” Evie paused, her eyes narrowing. “What’s the story? Is there something I should know?”
I cleared my throat. “It was a long time ago.” And not something I wanted to get into with Evie—ever.
“And what, you’re older and wiser now?” Her eyes narrowed further into the shape of slivered almonds, and I felt my stomach tense.
“Yes, and more importantly, I know how to show some restraint.”
“What does that mean exactly, Smith?”
“It means you have nothing to worry about.” That part was true.
“Why would I be worried? There’s nothing between us, right?”
“The truth is, she and I have a history. Let me go smooth this over. I’m afraid she’s got some old hang-ups, and this really isn’t about you at all.”
Evie shot me a now wide-eyed glare, curiosity written all over her features.
“She and I were connected in the past. And she might be trying to sabotage you to punish me. I’ll handle it.”
“No way. You’re not fighting my battle. And what kind of relationship?”
“It was purely physical.” The words felt sour in my throat. I hated admitting this to Evie, but I wouldn’t lie to her.
“So you slept with her?”
“Like I said, it was a long time ago.”
The moment the words left my mouth, I hated myself. The look of disappointment that flashed on Evie’s features was brief but unmistakable. A few seconds of silence passed between us, and I was left feeling like even more of an asshole than I was.
I shook my head slowly and took another long look at the collage of campaign elements. “If Arabella doesn’t like the campaign you created, then she’s a fucking idiot, Evie. This is brilliant.”
And it was. She’d struck the perfect balance between sensuality and class, each image showcasing the pieces to their best
advantage. One teddy in particular caught my eye and I cocked my head, imagining Evie in that very outfit.
“That color would look amazing on your skin,” I murmured softly, my voice dropping to a whisper. “You’d look am—”
“Fucking horrible in that outfit,” a low voice chimed in sharply from behind me. “Ew, Smith. Don’t be imagining my little sister in this shit, or I’m going to have to fire you both,” Cullen said, stepping between us.
Evie’s cheeks turned the color of cooked beets, but I managed to keep it together.
“It’s a pretty color, buddy,” I said with a grin. “It would look great with her hair. Don’t get your panties in a wad.”
Cullen grunted and then shrugged. “Whatever. Still gross. The three of us need to have a quick discussion about the new line with manufacturing in an hour, so clear your schedules, all right?”
Evie gave her brother a thumbs-up, and I nodded. “Sure thing.”
He turned on his heel and left, already on to the next thing, seeming to forget all about the fact that I’d been imagining his sister in a peach teddy. That didn’t help either Evie or me, though, because we were left gazing at each other guiltily.
“I’m going to go see if I can talk Arabella down,” I said, breaking the tension. “And if not, don’t stress. I know that once she sees this, all will be forgotten anyway.”
Evie gave me a grateful smile and waved. I’d made it all the way to the door before I couldn’t stop myself from turning back.
“You would look super hot in that lingerie, though. Just saying.”
A pair of satin panties whizzed past my face, hitting the door frame. When I looked back at Evie, she was casting a scowl in my direction.
• • •
Once at home, I felt the stirrings of a headache forming. Huffing out a deep breath, I sat down on the side of my bed. I just needed a fucking minute here. I raked a hand through my hair, feeling the weight of all this new pressure on my shoulders.
Reaching into the drawer of my nightstand, I pulled a worn slip of paper from inside a familiar envelope. The paper’s edges were soft, and the faded ink reflected its age. As much as it evoked memories of my less-than-desirable beginnings, it was almost comforting in a way too.
I was left at four years old with just the clothes on my back—a size too small and fraying at the edges—along with this note in the parking lot of an emergency room downtown. My fingers traced the barely legible scrawl absently. I remembered nothing of my life before, and my adoptive mom said that was a good thing, but I wasn’t so sure. Even some sad memories would have helped me piece together the fragments of my early childhood.
The blank space was left to fester, growing wider, deeper with each passing year. It was an emptiness inside me that nothing in my life had been able to fill—and believe me, I’d tried. Booze. Women. Fast cars. I’d tried it all.
Now I’d resigned myself to live with that hole in my chest. I kept my head down, throwing myself into my work to compensate for the missing puzzle piece inside me. But what else could I do?
I stuffed the paper back inside its resting place, knowing I was about to get deeper into my own issues before I found my way back out again.
Chapter Sixteen
I was a walking cliché. The once-ugly duckling who had shed her baby fat and awkward phase but was still too chickenshit to believe she was pretty.
I let out a heavy sigh, checking my appearance one more time. I might not like what I saw in my reflection, but that was silly, right? Smith saw me that way. He saw me as a sexual woman who’d wanted to explore, someone smart and capable and funny. He even said I’d look beautiful in that lacy peach lingerie. We worked in the business of seductive undergarments, but I’d never let myself believe I would be wearing them for a man, let alone Smith, of all people.
Fuck it.
Turning on my heel, I grabbed my purse and strutted from my apartment.
I wouldn’t know unless I tried . . .
Chapter Seventeen
Meet me at Restaurant Saint Germaine at seven on Friday.
I glanced at my text to Evie once more just to confirm the time and then checked my watch. Five after. She was always punctual, if not early, and I was starting to think I was about to get the blow-off.
The week at work had gone by at a snail’s pace. Once I’d smoothed over the whole cock-up with Arabella, largely helped by the fact that Evie had indeed hit the ad campaign out of the park, there had only been mundane number-crunching to focus on. That left way too much brain space for me to think about Evie. The kiss in the copy room, and most of all, our date tonight.
I settled into my seat at a corner booth of the famed restaurant and glanced at the door again.
If there was even going to be a date.
She’d said yes when I texted her the other day, but maybe the weirdness of witnessing Cullen’s response to our exchange had finally gotten to her and she’d chickened out. I wouldn’t blame her one bit. It was fucking weird for me too. But things had escalated to the point that I was past caring. We would deal with Cullen when the time came.
For now, I knew that I was on the cusp of something with Evie. Something special. Something I’d never felt before. Something that was equal parts intriguing and maddening. Something that had the potential to quiet the demons inside me that whispered in the dark of night that I was unlovable and bound to be alone for life.
It might even be—
“Hey, you!”
I looked up to see Evie standing next to the table wearing a cream-colored blouse and a black leather skirt that fit like a second skin. Her hair was up in an elaborate twist that made me want to yank out the pins just to see those curls go tumbling around her shoulders.
My heart stuttered in my chest, and I stood. “You look amazing,” I murmured softly, leaning in to kiss her cheek. I breathed in her scent while I was at it, and my cock stood at immediate attention.
“Thank you,” she replied, her smile a little shy. “The skirt is a little much for me . . . kind of racy, but I figured what the hell?”
What the hell, indeed? I resisted the urge to skim my fingers across the buttery-soft leather and cup a handful of ass, and instead gestured for her to sit.
“I wish you’d let me pick you up next time,” I said, sitting back down across from her.
“After the close calls we’ve had with Cullen lately?” she said with a snort. “Our luck, he’d be pulling in for a surprise visit right as we walked out. Uber is fine. If you want to take me home tonight, though . . .”
She trailed off, her eyes blazing, and my pulse raced to warp speed.
“Ma’am, may I off-air you a beverahge?” the waiter who had magically appeared asked in the thickest, most put-on French accent I’d ever heard.
Evie blinked up at him, her brow furrowed. “I’m sorry, what did you say?”
He smiled, but there was an edge of annoyance as he replied. “I said, what may I get you to drink?” His accent was no less obnoxious, but this time, she understood him because he added a pantomime of a person drinking from a glass, his pinkie extended.
“Uh, sure. I’ll have . . .” She shot me a glance and I shrugged, motioning to my Scotch. I’d been spared this fake-accent routine because I’d ordered mine at the bar before sitting, so she was on her own. “A glass of chardonnay, please.”
He bent in half in a deep bow, nearly beaning his head on the corner of the table, and Evie winced.
“I weel return momentarily weez your libation,” he said before turning on his heel and sauntering away.
Evie stared after him and then turned to me. “Holy crap,” she murmured, and burst out laughing.
I’d always loved that laugh. It rocked her whole body and rang through the room. Apparently, though, not everyone was as impressed. A pair of diners a few seats away sent disapproving glances our way. I kept the grin on my face and raised my glass to them before taking a deep swallow.
Fuck them. If Evie’s co
ntagious laugh didn’t charm the pants off them, they were clearly raised by wolves.
When she finally stopped giggling, Evie held a hand to her heaving chest and shook her head. “I’ve been to some nice places in my life, but this one takes the cake. There are five forks, Smith. Five. Even I don’t know what to do with that many,” she whispered, jabbing a finger toward the gleaming utensils. “I’m feeling a little out of my element.”
I was about to argue with her, to tell her she would fit in no matter where she went. But the truth was, when I’d planned the date, I just wanted to impress her. This place was a Michelin three-star restaurant and made all the magazines. After our first date at my apartment where we’d eaten a humble roasted chicken, I’d wanted to knock her socks off.
But that wasn’t Evie, was it?
This was a generic fancy date for a generic woman. Evie was right. The only reason she was out of her element was because this place wasn’t good enough for her.
I dug into my pocket, pulled out my wallet, and dropped a fifty on the table. Then I stood and held out my hand. “Come on. Let’s get the fuck out of here.”
She let out a puzzled laugh and eyed me suspiciously. “And go where?”
“You’ll see,” I replied, a plan already unfolding in my mind.
Tonight would be a night Evie would never forget, and it wouldn’t be because of any stars or fancy food. It would be because the date was for us and only us.
• • •
“I thought this place closed down last year,” she said, shooting me a shocked look as we pulled up to Rap Scallion’s Bar and Grill less than an hour later.
“Nope. Granted, nobody we know comes here anymore because it’s still a college bar, but they’re open and it’s Friday Five-Cent Wing night, and they have a trivia contest going on.”
When her eyes went suspiciously glassy, I knew I’d done good. This was the same bar we’d gone to on her twenty-first birthday. Up until the point that she’d lost her cookies, she’d had a great night. We all did. Sometimes I wondered if I’d known then that things had changed between us and had refused to admit it to myself.